Looking In, Looking Out
by Psyched
Summary: Post-ep: Sara and Brass have another conversation. Contains general spoilers for the Season 4 finale.


A.N.  I started this story after Brass' talk with Sara in "Early Rollout" and it sat on my hard drive until I read spoilers for "Bloodlines" (formerly known as "Look at Me").  I guess this can be described as a post-ep for the season 4 finale (even though the episode hasn't aired yet).

Although TPTB gave me "Butterflied" for my birthday, they didn't give me any ownership of CSI (maybe next year?), so I am not making any profit from this story.

Finally, a great big virtual hug to my beta Alison, whose suggestions always make my stories better.

~*~*~

"Alright, already.  I'm coming!"  Sara Sidle grumbled.  She had been on the couch, and had just drifted off to sleep when the doorbell rang.  Figuring it was the UPS guy hoping to get her to sign for a neighbor's package, she decided to ignore the offending sound.  Then the bastard started knocking.

Tossing the chenille throw to the side, she took a moment to stretch before heading for the door.  _Hold your damned horses.  Wake me up from a nap and expect me not to keep you waiting.  You're lucky I'm getting up at all._

Reaching the door, Sara began chiding the delivery man.  "Hey Pete, I thought we agreed that if you didn't hear the stereo on in here, you weren't going to knock."  Twisting the deadbolt back, she left the chain on as she pulled on the doorknob.  "And I know you don't have anything there for me, so…"  Her voice drifted to a halt when she did not see Pete in the hallway.  "Brass?  What are you doing here?"

"Happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop in."

"I wouldn't be a very good CSI if I believed that load of bull."   She tempered this statement with a genuine smile.

"And if you weren't a very good CSI, I wouldn't be wasting my time here right now."  He did not break eye contact with her.  "May I?" he asked, motioning toward the interior of her apartment.

"Yeah, sure."  Sara closed the door to unfasten the chain, then opened it fully and stepped back to grant him entrance.  After he walked past her, she offered him a seat and asked, "You want something to drink?  There's coffee, tea, iced tea, OJ, water."

"No beer?"  He said it casually, with no hint of accusation in his voice.  That was all in his eyes.

She flinched as if she'd been slapped.  "I guess I deserved that."  Walking to the kitchen, she went into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water for herself.  Eying Brass again, she invited him to look for himself.  "Want to see for yourself?"

She did not know whether to be offended or relieved when he did indeed inspect her refrigerator.  "I generally drink beer, but feel free to check the cabinets for any other liquor."

Brass' eyebrows rose as he considered that comment.  "Dumped it all?"

"Yeah, Brass, the entire dusty, barely drunk bottle of vodka somebody gave me as a gift a few years ago."  She did not bother to soften the annoyance this time.

"And the beer?"

She huffed out a breath and flipped up the lid to the trashcan, revealing three unopened bottles of Samuel Adams Golden Lager.  Brass reached in, pulled them out, and began glancing around the counter for an opener.  Anticipating his question, Sara took one out of a drawer and handed it to him.  Brass worked off the caps and promptly poured the now warm amber liquid down the sink.

"I'm not an alcoholic Brass; I wouldn't have gotten so desperate that I'd have dug through the trash to drink those."

"So why throw them out?"

"Because after yesterday, it's going to be a very long time before I drink again."

"Hell of a hard way to learn a lesson, Sara."

"But it's a lesson learned."

Reaching into his blazer pocket, Brass presented Sara with a folded piece of paper.  Handing it to her, he explained, "Look, getting rid of the booze is a good first step, but there's a lot more to changing behaviors than that.  There are people who can help with the day-to-day of it."

Reading the sheet, Sara discovered it was a list of local Alcoholics Anonymous meeting times and places.  There were several listed for every day of the week.  She walked away from the police captain and headed into the living room.  Brass followed, but remained standing when she sat on the couch.

"Brass, I really do appreciate this, but I swear to you, I don't need meetings.  I admit I was using alcohol occasionally to help me sleep, or numb me a little.  And I obviously made a really stupid decision when I had a couple of beers at a bar and decided I was okay to drive.  But it's over now.  I'm not going to do that again."

"It's not that I don't want to believe you, Sara, but I've known too many people who've made that exact same statement and have gone back to the booze within a week.  Hell, I was one of those people."

She smiled a sad smile at him and used her fingers to tick of her next points.  "I am not physically dependent on alcohol; I don't crave it and I do not suffer from withdrawal when I stop drinking.  I haven't built up a tolerance to it.  I am able to control how much I drink.  I do not spend great amounts of time either drinking or recovering from the effects of drinking."

"But you've done your research, so you must have been worried."

"If I have an addiction to alcohol Brass, I want to be the first to know it.  If I can't stay away from the beer next time I go grocery shopping, trust me, the very next stop I make will be one of these meetings."

Finally sitting in a chair near the couch, Brass offered, "I can go with you if you want."

Giving him her second real smile of the night, Sara responded, "Thank you.  If I need to go, I'll take you up on that, I promise."

"It's not often what I say bears repeating, but I'll say this again:  I'm just looking out for you."

Sara nodded her understanding.  "And I know this is going to be hard for you to believe, but I can count on one hand the number of times in the past few months that I have used alcohol to "medicate," as you put it that day."

"That doesn't mean this can't develop into a problem, Sara."

"I know that.  I do."  She replied quickly, for she had had that exact same thought while chucking the beers earlier.  "Listen, Brass, I'm not trying to say I don't have something to work on here.  Obviously, I can't rely on beer to make my problems go away.  The point I was trying to make is that this hadn't become a pattern or a habit, though I suppose I can't deny that it might have become one."  

Catching his eyes so that he understood how serious she was, Sara continued.  "Things could have turned out much worse for me last night, I'm very well aware of that.  Minimally, I could have been arrested and lost my job.  Worst case, I could have killed someone.  I'm choosing not to disregard the favor those cops tossed my way, and I'm using this as a wake-up call."

Maintaining the eye contact for a few more beats, Brass eventually nodded.  "I'm glad to hear that.  Just remember, if you need some help along the way, I can be there."

She simply smiled her thanks this time, thankful for his support.

In the quietness that followed, Sara mentally reviewed all that had transpired to get her to this place in her life—sitting in her apartment after her lowest moments, with Jim Brass, of all people, offering his assistance without recrimination.  Not for the first time, she considered what kind of boss he would have been had she been here before Holly Gribbs' death, and wondered what might have been different, both personally and professionally, if Brass had been her supervisor all this time instead of Grissom.

Recognizing that the silence was making him uncomfortable, Sara spoke.  "Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"But I need a completely honest answer, okay?"

He held up two fingers, "Scouts' honor."

"If you were still running the unit, who would you have recommended for the Lead CSI position?"

He answered almost immediately, "Before that stunt of yours last year, you, without hesitation."

"And after?"

"Well, considering you were probably still in shock after the explosion and shouldn't have been working that scene in the first place, you again."

"So you wouldn't have chosen Nick."  Maybe she was being childish and insecure, but she wanted to hear _someone_ say it.

"Don't get me wrong, Nick's a good CSI, and he has a lot of potential.  He's come a long way, and I'd definitely nominate him for 'Most Improved.'  But you've already got what Nicky's still trying to achieve.  And if I hear any of that repeated outside of this room, I'll know who to come looking for." 

She put up her two fingers, returning his 'Scouts' honor' promise.  "So why me, then?"

This time he did consider his words before speaking.  Imitating Sara's earlier gesture, he ticked off her qualities on his fingers.  "You've got a sharp mind and you're always looking to learn more.  You work relentlessly but ethically to find the truth.  You follow the evidence even if you don't like where it leads.  You're not afraid to speak your mind.  You've got the highest solve rate on the team.  You're a tough cookie; you don't let setbacks stop you."  With that, he winked at her.

When she did not reply, he continued, "You know, I've heard grumbling over the past few years about Gil's supervisory skills.  And, no, he's probably not going to win any 'Boss of the Year' awards.  But I happen to think that without a doubt, the best move he's made since taking over nightshift was bringing you on board."

"You know what?  I think that's the nicest, most direct compliment anyone's ever paid me."

Immediately understanding who probably tossed the veiled ones her way, Brass hoped to provide her with some assurance that she hadn't been misinterpreting them all this time.  "Listen, just because something isn't obvious doesn't mean it's not there."

"And just because it's there doesn't mean it has to be dealt with, apparently."  At his slightly surprised expression, she confirmed, "I was in the observation room.  I heard what he said to Lurie."

"Grissom…"

"Doesn't need you to speak for him.  He's a big boy, Brass."  Taking a deep breath, she summoned the courage to ask what had been on her mind since they began talking about the promotion.  "I would like you to speak for _me_, though, if you wouldn't mind."

"What do you mean?"

"Would you take those very flattering comments and write them down…in the form of a letter of recommendation?"

"You leaving?"  The thought saddened him.

"I think I need to, yeah."

"Because of the promotion?"

"Yes and no.  That's just the latest symptom of a larger problem."  She grimaced.  "And since I've recently realized that the way I had been trying to treat it was an unmitigated failure, I think it's time to do something else."

"And running away is going to help how?"  His voice was gentle enough to take the sting out of the words.

"It's not running away Brass.  It's taking care of myself.  If being a CSI in Vegas is setting me up to drink as a way to feel better, then I think I need to get out of Dodge.  Isn't that what they say addicts need to do—remove themselves from potential triggers?  I'm just trying to be proactive."

"Are you sure about this?  Isn't it kind of sudden?"

"Actually, I've been thinking about it for a while now.  So what do you say—will you write that letter?"  She flashed him her Sara smile in an attempt to sway him.

"Yeah."

~Fin


End file.
